


A Hitchhiker’s Guide to Making Friends and Finding Couches

by Innwich



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28676277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innwich/pseuds/Innwich
Summary: Soon after Din claimed the Darksaber, he was dogged by Mandalorians who wanted to challenge him for the fabled weapon, and was forced to couch-surf across the galaxy to evade his challengers.Or, in which Din was sick of beating challengers off with a (beskar) stick.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Bo-Katan Kryze, Din Djarin & Boba Fett, Din Djarin & Cobb Vanth, Din Djarin & Greef Karga, Din Djarin & Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin & Omera, Din Djarin & Paz Vizsla, Din Djarin & Peli Motto
Comments: 15
Kudos: 210





	A Hitchhiker’s Guide to Making Friends and Finding Couches

“You insult me!” Paz roared. His words reverberated in the mess room that he had picked as the venue for the fight. He would soon wake the rest of the Covert in these mining tunnels if he kept using his outside voice.

Din lowered his beskar spear and, less conspicuously, the audio volume in his helmet. “What?”

Insulting Paz was the furthest thing from Din’s mind. Din was only thinking about the warmth of his own cot and how much he wanted to return to it. He hadn’t spoken a word after he had been unceremoniously dragged out of his cot, dumped onto the floor of his quarters, and challenged to single combat. It had been hours away from dawn, but he hadn’t been too out of it to not put on his full armor and his jetpack. If he had learnt anything since he had claimed the Darksaber, it was that a formal challenge for the Darksaber should never be taken lightly.

(He had also learnt to remove his cape before a fight, after a series of bad decisions that had taken him to Nal Hutta, where he had seriously underestimated the number of Mandalorian clans seeking work in the nearby planetary systems, and which he had only escaped with Boba’s help.)

Paz pointed at the unignited Darksaber hanging from Din’s belt. “The Darksaber is the ancestral weapon of my House, but you refuse to use it against me in combat.”

Din, deprived of sleep and annoyed by his own morning (late night?) breath, rolled his eyes under the safety of his helmet.

The reason for his choice of weapon was less offensive than Paz had thought. He simply didn’t like handling a weapon that would cut his hand off if he held it wrong. However, Paz’s request was easy enough to entertain. He hadn’t asked Din to recite an ancient Rite of Holy Combat, to fight with no blasters or explosives, to strip away all non-beskar clothing, or to promise the victor his hand in marriage if he was defeated.

(Din had been sure that the last one was not an actual tradition of the old Houses, but he had his doubts after he had received similarly-worded requests from other challengers.)

Din unclipped the Darksaber from his belt, and ignited the Darksaber.

Paz nodded in approval. “This is the Way.” He lifted his machine gun off the floor.

“This is the Way.” Din gave the Darksaber a half-hearted swing, before he tossed it to the side and dove away from a hailstorm of blaster bolts.

* * *

Din was rethinking his decision to track down the remnants of the Nevarro Covert and live with them here. He had thought it would be a place of reprieve from Mandalorians that had been crawling out of the woodwork to fight him for the Darksaber. While Din hadn’t been sprung upon by Mandalorians lying in wait in cantinas in a while, he had woken up everyday to foundlings waiting outside his quarters for their turn to challenge him.

“I’ve heard of the trail of blood that follows the Darksaber throughout history. I don’t envy you,” Boba said. In the holocall, he was reclining on a large stone seat.

“It is trying, My training in the Fighting Corps didn’t prepare me for this,” Din admitted.

“Have you acquired a ship yet?” Boba said.

“Not yet, I don’t have the credits to purchase a ship,” Din said.

“You can’t stay there for long. Sooner or later, Mandalorians will know you’re there and come to you,” Boba said.

“The Covert operates in secrecy. It may be some time before my location is compromised,” Din said.

Boba shrugged. “Let me know when you decide to leave. I employ a fleet of smugglers who have routes that cover all corners of the galaxy. They’ll give you a lift whenever you need one.”

“Thank you. I’ll pay you for the service,” Din said.

Although Boba had taken over the formerly Hutt criminal enterprise on Tatooine, Din doubted Boba’s smugglers would be happy to take Din to the backwater planets that he would need to go. Intra-galactic travel was not cheap. The cost of fuel alone was prohibitively expensive. No transport would be willing to make a detour for a hitchhiker if there was no money to be made on the extra journey.

“Save your credits for your ship. Helping you is its own reward,” Boba said. “You’re Mand’alor now. You’re the legacy that my father and grandfather had once been part of. Be well.”

Din’s hand was soon forced. Mandalorians arrived on the planet and demanded audience with the Mand’alor. The Covert didn’t take kindly to the display of aggression. Din gave Boba a call in the lull of an intense gunfight. He had to go somewhere that he couldn’t be easily tracked, somewhere that he could keep his head down, somewhere that the locals would take kindly to him.

* * *

Din made it as far as the krill ponds at the outskirt of the village before the challengers caught up to him.

A heavy hand clamped down on Din’s shoulder. “We need to talk, Mand’alor.”

Din eyed his salvation, a lone krill farmer who had fell in a pond and was fleeing at the sight of them, longingly. “Then talk.”

They were narrowing down the selection of weapons that were allowed for the fights when an AT-ST walker came out of the woods with a large group of armed villagers behind it.

“Mando?” Omera said, lowering her blaster and gesturing for the walker drivers to disengage.

Four T-shaped visors, including Din’s, turned towards her.

Din sighed. He hadn’t meant to bring trouble to Omera’s door again. He had hoped to stay longer and maybe have the simple life that could have been his. Cara had praised the fresh spotchka that the villagers brewed using the krill they harvested from their ponds. But it would be impossible for him to make this a long stop now. “Can we request rooms for two nights?”

* * *

Din had earned considerable goodwill with the people of Mos Pelgo after he had improved their relations with the Tuskens and taken down the Krayt Dragon, but the goodwill didn’t extend to free bread and board at the local cantina owned by Cobb’s Weequay friend, who was nevertheless sympathetic and offered one of his backrooms in exchange for Din’s help around the bar.

Din could only break up so many bar brawls before it got old fast. It was almost a relief when Mandalorians came, if not for the fact that they tracked sand into the cantina and knocked over the chairs that he had stacked on the tables for the night. Din didn’t even know that there was so much sand collecting in the rafters until he was flung into a wall and shook the sand loose.

“You want to fight him for the right to rule your people. That’s all well and good,” Cobb said, having been alerted to the disturbance by his Weequay friend and arrived at the cantina in his official capacity as the Marshall of the town. “But how about we up the stakes?”

“How about we don’t?” Din said shortly.

“No, let him speak.” Clan Awaud indicated Cobb.

“Since y’all trashed my friend’s place, the least you can do is have the losers pay for the repairs,” Cobb said.

Clan Rancor stepped forwards and shoved his helmeted head close against Cobb’s smiling face. “Mandalorians don’t pay for war damage.”

“That’s why you folks ain’t welcome at the finer establishments in the spaceports,” Cobb said. He snapped his fingers. “Tell you what. Why don’t we make a sporting game out of it? Whoever loses will have to buy everyone a round. The proceeds will go a long way for my friend to put in a new door and replace the furniture.”

“There are only six of us here,” Din said.

“Guess I’ll have to call a town meeting, won’t I?” Cobb grinned.

“Deal,” Clan Awaud said. “It’ll be an honor to have witnesses for the combat.”

Clan Rancor agreed, “The rise of the new Mand’alor shall strike fear in the hearts of the outsiders.”

“Deal,” Cobb’s Weequay friend said quickly. “The losers will pay for drinks for everyone in Mos Pelgo.”

Din counted the credits in his pouch, and fretted silently.

* * *

“It’s believed that a Mand’alor proves their mettle by not just claiming the Darksaber, but also by defending their claim on the Darksaber,” Bo-Katan said, looking far too irritated for someone who had made the holocall and initiated the conversation in the first place. “Now you understand why I refused to take the Darksaber.”

Din was crouching under the manual controls in the cramped hyperdrive engine room. It was the only spot on the ship that he could get a strong signal on his holotransmitter. The Zabrak smugglers had granted him access to the engine room without a fight; they thought he was eccentric. They hadn’t left the moons of Yavin before he had noticed the arrival of a Kom’rk-class fighter and requested to accompany the smugglers back to Tatooine, but they had orders from Boba to comply with Din’s wishes.

“It’s a flawed process. A Mand’alor would be too preoccupied with fighting the populace to lead them,” Din said.

Bo-Katan’s eyes twitched. It was the same look she had had when Cara had said she thought real Mandalorians weren’t allowed to take off their helmets. “If a Mand’alor was universally loved by the people, hardly anyone would challenge the Mand’alor’s claim to the throne.”

While Din was too gruff and jaded to be lovable (that was Greef’s job in the Guild as a liaison between the clients and the hunters, and even Greef only succeeded at being mildly affable at the best of times), he didn’t think he was so hated that he couldn’t go a parsec before being challenged to single combat.

“As long as you are holding onto the Darksaber, you’re Mand’alor. No one else can jeopardize my plans to unite the clans,” Bo-Katan said, unaware of the minor crisis that she had induced in Din.

“It’ll be easier for you to rally the clans if you wield the Darksaber,” Din said stoically and definitely didn’t beg. “Please.”

Bo-Katan was unmoved. “I’ll check up on you the same time next week.”

She hung up before Din could ask her not to call again if she wasn’t going to come and pick up the Darksaber.

* * *

The pit droids noticed Din in the hangar before Peli did. When Din gestured for them to shut up, they trilled and folded into their collapsed forms with a loud rattle. Damn droids. Hearing the commotion, Peli pulled off her goggles and climbed down from the shuttle that she was fixing.

“Why are you sneaking into my hangar?” Peli asked with her arms crossed.

“Can you hide me?” Din whispered urgently.

“I don’t run a charity, you know,” Peli said.

“I don’t carry the kind of credits you usually ask for.”

“Can’t a big scary bounty hunter like you find work in town? I heard the new kingpin is recruiting.” Peli narrowed her eyes. “Where is your ship? Did you leave the kid alone on your ship again? How many times do I have to tell you? It’s no way to raise a young one!”

“I don’t have the kid,” Din said as quietly as he could.

Peli gaped at him. “You lost the kid?”

“I handed him to a sorcerer for training,” Din whispered.

“You’re the kid’s dad! How could you just hand him off to a stranger? How could you have lost the kid?!” Peli said.

Din hushed her. “Keep it down.”

“DON’T SHUSH ME! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO LOST THE KID!”

It was too late. Din held his breath as a jangle of spurs crossed the threshold of the hangar.

“Mand’alor! Clan Rau challenges you for your claim to the Darksaber! And for your hand in marriage!”

Peli put her hands on her hips. “Oh, so that’s your name, is it? ‘Mand’alor’. Now I know what to tell the next New Republic ranger that comes sniffing around these parts.”

A battle axe swung down at his face. Din lifted his spear to block the blow. Clan Rau raised the battle axe, and swung it down again and again at Din’s head. Each blow was as heavy as the last one.

“That’s not my name,” Din hissed. His arms were aching. He was straining to keep his hold on his spear.

“I know what I heard,” Peli snapped. “And because you lost the kid, I’m gonna sit here and watch you get your nerf-herding ass kicked.”

* * *

Din saw the blur of movement behind him before he heard the jetpack.

Din was forced to drop his spear and throw himself forwards to dodge the next shot. Not even pure beskar could hold up against a scatter gun at this range. The spear flew back into Din’s hand before it hit the ground.

“Wow,” Luke said with wide eyes. “The Force is strong with you. I can offer you training to refine your powers.”

“I’m wearing electromagnetic gloves,” Din corrected Luke before Luke got any misguided ideas about recruiting Din into the Jedi Order of Force-Sensitive Younglings. Luke had imitated X-wing take-off noises and levitated a spoonful of disturbingly colorful vegetables at dinnertime, and then landed the vegetables in the mouth of his ‘most accomplished student and nephew’.

(Din had considered adopting the method to feed Grogu dehydrated rations on future trips, just moments before Luke’s nephew had spewed regurgitated vegetables everywhere.)

“Oh.” Luke’s hopeful smile fell.

“Stay out of this, sorcerer. You’re next,” Clan Saxon said.

Din took advantage of Clan Saxon’s distraction to ignite the Darksaber. He surged forwards and sliced the barrel off of Clan Saxon’s scatter gun. The broken gun landed in the dirt. Then he brought the spear down on Clan Saxon’s gloved hand. Clan Saxon hissed, activating his jetpack to hover in the air and clutching his hand.

“You’re not getting past me,” Din said to Clan Saxon.

“It’s honorable of you to offer protection, Grogu’s parent, but I can take care of myself and my students,” Luke said.

Later, Luke would prove that he was as good as his words, and Forcefully remove the two Mandalorians from the temple’s courtyard for igniting a ‘Force Tree’, whatever that was.

* * *

Din wouldn’t hear Greef over the ruckus in the office if they weren’t crouching side-by-side behind the overturned couch that had been serving as Din’s bed. A terminal flew into the ceiling and shattered into pieces that bounced off of Din’s helmet and Greef’s makeshift shield.

“Where do these Mandalorians come from?” Greef yelled.

“They tracked me down. Why are there Devaronian mercenaries on Nevarro?” Din swung the Darksaber and cut in half a chair that was thrown at his head.

“Hand over the pretty blade, Mando!” one of the Devaronians shouted.

“It doesn’t belong to outsiders, vile scum!” Clan Rook charged at the Devaronian.

“Don’t give me that look. I didn’t hire them,” Greef said to Din in an offended tone. “You didn’t even warn me you were coming. I could’ve been off-world for all you know.”

“You’re never off-world,” Din said.

“I wish I’m off-world right now.” Greef shot a blaster out of a Devaronian’s hand. The Devaronian howled in pain and looked around the room murderously for the culprit.

“Boss, can I go?” Greef’s Mythrol accountant whimpered from under a desk.

“I already told you: You’re only dismissed when I say you’re dismissed!” Greef said.

The Mythrol squealed. Din shot the Devaronian that had grabbed the Mythrol by his legs. The Mythrol scrambled to hide under another desk.

“Are you sure no Guild fobs have been issued for me?” Din said.

“I’m sure. It seems to me they want your new laser sword more than they want you. Is there a tracker on that thing?” Greef said.

“No. I wondered that myself. A Jedi confirmed that the sword only contains the usual components of a lightsaber,” Din said.

“Well, it doesn’t make sense. You said you’ve been planet-hopping but these Mandos are still finding you somehow,” Greef said. “Has your armor been tempered with? Is there someone who you’ve been keeping in touch with and knows where you’re going?”

Din stilled. And then he swore, “Dank farrik.”

* * *

After the dust settled with a Devaronian dead in a ditch and two duels scheduled for tomorrow, Din called Boba on his holotransmitter.

“Have you been selling intel of my location on the black market?” Din said.

Boba remained unreadable. He took a worryingly long time before he said, “Who told you that?”

That was a good enough admission. Din hung up on Boba, but he surprised himself by how little anger he was feeling. He might have been betrayed too often by friends and foes for him to have strong feelings about it anymore, which was slightly concerning. But credits were credits in these trying times. Besides, Greef had warned Din that Boba had some strange ideas regarding his family’s legacy. _Probably got them from Jango; he was a crazy bastard too. Not that I’d say that to either of their faces,_ Greef had muttered.

Din asked Greef, “Do you have a ship I can borrow?”

“Is it gonna get blown up like your last ship?” Greef said.

“No,” Din said. At Greef’s skeptical look, he amended it to, “I’ll buy it off you and do Guild work to pay off the debt. You’ll get your usual commission from the Guild, and, on top of that, I’ll pay you for the price of the ship.”

“You still have that laser sword. Don’t tell me you’re planning to hunt bounties when you have an endless entourage of Mandalorians on your tail,” Greef said.

“It’ll be difficult,” Din admitted, “but it’s not impossible.”

“Fine.” Greef took a dozen pucks out of his pouch. “Take your pick. Don’t make me regret this.”

Greef would soon regret it. Greef groaned aloud when he received a complaint from the Guild about seven dueling and armored (but half-naked) Mandalorians showing up to capture a Lord’s runaway son from a cantina on Lothal and refusing to pay for the extensive damage they had caused.


End file.
